Showbiz, A Novel (24 page)

             
He had been avoiding Scarlett all week since his meeting with Margolies and Candace. He had finally run out of excuses not to see a preview of her show. He knew he was hurting her feelings by putting her off, and that was the last thing he wanted to do.

             
He tried to focus on the stage. They were in Act Two, and the actors were giving stellar performances. The audience members around them were rapt. He felt sick to his stomach. What was he going to do about the mess he’d gotten himself into? The only options on the table were to kill her show or kill his own career. The quandary was tearing him up. He squeezed Scarlett's hand, and she smiled at him. He'd just have to get through it. He’d need to talk to Scarlett that night. It was mortifying to admit that he’d gotten himself into the situation in the first place, but Scarlett knew Margolies better than anyone. Maybe she could help him find a way out of it.

             
The crowd leapt to their feet during the curtain call, and Reilly was right there with them. Scarlett looked so incredibly proud. On their way to the lobby, he congratulated the Jeremys, whom Scarlett said had finally started to relax after spending the first week of previews tearing out their hair at the back of the theater. They were finally willing to believe that their show was a hit.

             
“Can we grab a drink?” Reilly asked.

             
“Good idea. Let me see if the guys want to join us.”

             
“Wait.” He grabbed her arm before she could flag down the Jeremys and Lawrence. “I'd rather it be just us.”

             
“Oooh, okay!” she said with a wink. “It's been a while since we've had a date night.”

             
“Why don't I grab us a table at the pub across the street, and you can join me when you’re done here?” Reilly suggested, eager to get away. Seeing all the proud, hopeful faces of everyone involved in
Swan Song
made him feel like the lowest of the low. He held their fate in his hands. That must have been how the late critic Kanter felt, every time he went to the theater. No wonder he had killed himself.

             
Reilly had thought of himself as having thick skin after years of flack for his gossip column. It was a whole different league.

             
“Sure. I'll just be a few minutes,” Scarlett said, turning away to greet someone whom Lawrence wanted her to meet.

             
Half an hour later, Reilly looked up to see Scarlett making her way to the back corner booth he’d snagged. She looked radiant and confident.

             
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” she said as she pulled off her coat and slid into the booth across from him.

             
“No worries.” He leaned over to give her a kiss across the table, and they both almost knocked their heads on the low-hanging lamp providing a warm, intimate circle of light on the table. It would be romantic if it weren’t for the inevitable subject matter, thought Reilly. “I ordered you a glass of wine.”

             
“Perfect,” she said as the waiter dropped off two glasses of wine. “Did you see that guy with Lawrence? He’s really interested in investing in the show, if we transfer to Broadway. It’s pretty exciting! Wow, I feel like I’ve hardly seen you all week!”

             
“I know. Sorry about that. Things have been...crazy.”

             
“So...” She paused, her eyes glittering.

             
“So...” he echoed. He didn’t pick up the hint.

             
“What did you think of the show? I’ve been dying to hear your thoughts!”

             
“Of course! Sorry, I don’t know where my mind’s been.” He reached across the table and took her hands in his. “I loved it. I absolutely loved it.”

             
“You mean it?”

             
He looked into her eyes. “Absolutely. You should be so proud. It’s exactly what a great musical should be. It has heart, great songs, a compelling story, and a knock-out cast.”

             
She smiled widely. “You sound like you’re writing a review! Hey, soon you
will
be writing reviews. Too bad you can’t do ours. Wouldn’t that have been too perfect?”

             
Reilly’s eyes darted around the small bar. He had purposely chosen a seat facing the door so he could make sure no one from the theater could interrupt or overhear what he was about to say.

             
He let go of her hands and took a sip of his wine. “Scarlett. We need to talk about something.”

             
Her face fell. “Are you breaking up with me? I wondered, when I hadn’t seen you all week, I—”

             
“No! Not at all. Never.”

             
“Phew.” She sat back. “I’m so relieved. I really wasn’t sure what has been going on with you this week—you were MIA all of sudden. You know, I even thought that maybe it was because I had lost my job and couldn’t give you any more dirt on Margolies for your articles. I feel bad for even letting that thought cross my mind.”

             
He hadn’t thought he could feel any worse. Apparently, he could.

             
“Hey, are you okay?” she asked with a concerned look. “You look pale.”

             
“Scarlett. I’m not breaking up with you. I think you know how I feel about you. But there’s something serious that I need to tell you, and you’re not going to like it.”

             
“Okay,” she said, her face suddenly serious.

             
“It’s about my review for the
Banner
.”

             
“Your turn is next week, right?”

             
“Right. But I need to tell you a secret. For all our sakes, you can’t tell anyone. Not a soul. I shouldn’t even be telling you. But I needed you to know.”

             
“The suspense is killing me, Reilly. Just tell me.” Her cheeks were flushed.

             
He took a deep breath. “Well, I guess you could say I’ve been offered the critic job.”

             
She gave him a confused look. “Go on.”

             
His eyes kept darting around to ensure they weren’t being overheard. “It’s complicated. Margolies and Candace offered me the job if I review
Swan Song
next week...” This is the hard part. “And give it a terrible review.”

             
Scarlett stared at him. Speechless.

             
“What are you talking about? And what does Margolies have to do with any of this?” she asked, baffled.

             
“I guess you could say we were right about Margolies rigging reviews,” he said in an attempt to turn the conversation around.

             
“What exactly did Margolies say to you?” she asked, her voice ice cold.

             
“Well, they said if I proved myself by panning
Swan Song
, they’d rig the public vote so that I’d get the gig,” he explained.

             
“So you’d be working for Margolies?”

             
“No, it wouldn’t be like that. Once I got the gig, I could write honest reviews.”

             
“I guess you’ve thought all this through,” Scarlett said, her voice shaking with anger. “You get your dream job, and all you have to do is kill the dreams of your girlfriend and all her friends. We’re just collateral damage in your path to the top. Is that it?”

             
“No, you’re missing the point. And anyway, I would never kill your show.”

             
“But didn’t you just tell Margolies you would?” Scarlett asked.

             
“I didn’t exactly say that I would.”

             
She cut him off. “But you didn’t say you wouldn’t?”

             
“Of course, I won’t. But he put me on the spot, Scarlett. I didn’t know what to say in the moment. I really want the job.”

             
“So, what’s your plan? To just tell him, ‘Never mind, I think I’ll give
Swan Song
the good review it deserves after all,’ and he’ll just leave you alone and give you the job anyway? Let you off the hook? You’re a fool if you think you won’t become a pawn, just like Kanter was!”

             
“He said he was testing me. Just making sure I had what it takes to be a tough critic,” he said. He was getting flustered. She wasn’t taking this well. “I’m telling you this because I need your help figuring out what to do.”

             
“Oh, give me a break! You want my permission to royally screw me?” Scarlett exclaimed. “And I suppose it’s just a coincidence that he picked
my
show for you to kill? Wasn’t your whole point in
getting
this job not to be a tough critic but to be an
honest
one?”

             
“I am honest. I told you, I will find a way out.” He needed to fix this. But he was feeling monumentally stuck. It was either get that job or disappear into obscurity. At thirty-five, he couldn’t accept that as his fate.

             
“I don’t believe you. You’re just as bad as the rest of them!” she fumed.

             
Suddenly he was angry, too. “Wake up, Scarlett. This is how the world works these days. Look at Margolies. Look at the rest of them. They didn’t get to where they are by playing nice. I thought you wanted this for me and for yourself.”

             
“What I wanted was to get to the top without having to be corrupt and mean and petty. And I thought that’s what you wanted, too!” Her voice was rising.

             
“I do! But maybe we were both being unrealistic. If I don’t get this job, they’ll just put someone else in that they can manipulate. Better the devil you know, right?”

             
“I thought I put devils behind me when I was fired.” She sank back in her seat, dejected. “I don’t know what to say to you, Reilly.”

             
“Help me fix this, Scarlett. I would never hurt you,” he said, trying to turn the conversation around.

             
“You don’t know Margolies like I do.” Her eyes were dull and she looked tired.

             
“I’m definitely getting the idea. I haven’t even told you the best part,” he said with a mirthless laugh. “If I don’t do what they say, he and Candace are prepared to run a column saying that they’ve knocked me out of the running, claiming I tried to cheat the contest. My reputation will be shot. Career over.”

             
She leaned in abruptly. “Wait, there may be a way out of this. What about the proof you have? The bank statements.” She was starting to get excited. “Can’t you go to your old editor and see if she’d run the exposé now? If you discredited Margolies and Candace preemptively, they couldn’t hold you to their deal.”

             
“If only.” If only Scarlett wasn’t so smart, he thought. “I didn’t want to scare you, but Scarlett, they broke into my apartment. They stole the bank statements, my laptop, my notes.”

             
Her face went pale. “I can’t believe they would do that. Are you sure?”

             
“Of course I’m sure. It happened while I was meeting with them. They were clearly sending me a message and tying my hands all at the same time. I don’t suppose you kept extra copies of those bank statements.”

             
Scarlett put her head in her hands and shook her head. Reilly finished the rest of his wine in one swallow.

             
“What am I going to do?” she said quietly.

             
Reilly asked himself the same question. At least he had told her and they could fix it together. He reached out and patted her head, still buried in her hands. “Let’s go home.”

             
She batted his hand away and looked up at him, her eyes blazing again.

             
“Wait a second. How did they know about your article? How did they know you would have documents in your apartment?”

             
His heart sank. He was hoping he wouldn’t have to go into his part, how he’d actually started the whole mess.

             
“Well…” he began sheepishly. “I may have let Candace know that I had an inkling of what was going on with Kanter.”

             
“This all makes so much sense now.” A chilly smile played at her lips. “You tried to blackmail them, and they beat you at your own game. You are just like them, Reilly Mitchell. I should have known.”